


In the shadow of Death

by Sarah_426



Series: Overwatch [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Guns, Madness, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Relationship(s), Video & Computer Games, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 20:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 15,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_426/pseuds/Sarah_426
Summary: An empire burns.Friendships tear apart.Loved-ones fade.Power corrupts.And McCree is drunk, as usual.





	1. The girl who didn't exist

**Author's Note:**

> As an Overwatch player myself, the lack of in-game lore constatly bothered me. I've gone about assembling the pieces of history that we know and intertwined them with conspiracys and ideas from my own mind. In doing so, have constructed an image, a picture, a snapshot of how things may have been. I hope you like it.

The woman sat quietly, legs drawn up to her chest, head tilted back against the wall. She ran her tongue over her lips, trying to remember sensation, trying to lock onto something. Her unruly brown hair fell into her face and she brushed it absent-mindedly. The timer on the wall had started. The doctors would be here soon.  
A door opened and the woman looked up. She raised a hand in vague greeting. She was tired this time. That was new. The doctor smiled as she moved towards the window.  
“Hello Miss Oxton. How are you feeling today?”  
The woman shrugged, bringing her trembling hands up in front of her face.  
{I’m ok} she signed. {How are you, Dr Ziegler?}  
The doctor smiled, her blue eyes twinkling.  
“I’m pretty good, thanks Lena. I just need to run a few tests, ok?”  
The woman's face fell, but she nodded. The doctor shuffled the papers on her clipboard and Lena blew her hair out of her face. It had grown again.  
{How long has it been?}  
Dr Ziegler turned away, opening the small cupboard on the wall outside Lena’s enclosure. Lena uncurled her legs, curling her fingers around the hard metal bench as she waited for her doctor to turn around.  
{Doctor. How long has it been?}  
The doctor turned, her face now troubled.  
“Since when have you started calling me ‘Doctor’? We’re friends, Lena.”  
{Friends would tell friends how. Long. It’s. Been.  
Angela, please.}  
Angela Ziegler turned, pulling her short blonde hair into a ponytail as she held a syringe in her teeth. Lena wasn’t worried about that, though. She’d been keeping an eye on the timer.  
“It’s been about four months, Lena. We thought…”  
Lena’s eyes flickered. Angela couldn’t tell if that was out of emotion, or if she was fading. She glanced at the clock.  
{Where’s Emily?}  
Angela bit her lip.  
“We thought you were gone. We thought you weren’t coming back. We sent her home.”  
{And she went?}  
“And Jack made her. Gabriel wanted her to stay, but Jack wasn’t having it.”  
Lena grimaced.  
{Jack Morrison is an asshat.  
You tell him…}  
Lena’s right arm blurred. Dr Ziegler looked up sharply.  
“Lena. Stay with me, hon. I need to…”  
Lena’s face began to fade into pixels. The woman looked up desperately, darting across the ground, smashing her body against the door. Her body vibrated and flickered as the timer on the wall reached three minutes. Lena fell to the floor. Angela looked backwards over her shoulder, bit her lip and then darted forwards. She unbolted the heavy door and dropped to her knees before her patient.  
“Lena? Lena, stay with me. I’ll call Emily, we’ll get her in her…”  
Lena raised her remaining hand, desperately moving her fingers in an effort to get her words across. Her last words for god knew how long.  
{I’m sorry. I can’t do this. You can’t keep me here, but I can’t leave. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I can’t even live, Angela. Please.  
Have mercy.  
Tell Emily I’m gone. Tell her I’m not coming back. Don’t even tell her I was here today. It’ll be easier for both of us. If I ever come back, ignore me.  
Maybe one day, I’ll fade for good.  
Tell Jack he’s an asshat.}  
Angela closed her eyes. When she opened them, Lena was gone. The doctor retrieved her documents from the ground, looking at the readings and graphs, the red crosses and the stamps. The tables of information and observations that contained so many words but concluded nothing.  
Angela crumpled the papers in her fist.


	2. Old Soldiers

“What do you mean she’s gone?!”   
Angela cupped her head in her hands.  
“I mean she’d gone, Jack. She’s not coming back. She doesn’t want to come back.”  
Jack Morrison smashed his hands onto the table, knocking his chair back. His piercing eyes cut through Angela’s soul.  
“Doctor, are you telling me there nothing you can do?” he lowered his voice. “Nothing at all?”  
Angela shook her head, her blonde bangs falling into her face. She tried to find words, but couldn’t. Jack ran his hands through his hair, releasing his breath.  
“Gabe is not going to be happy about this. He’s the one that picked her up.”  
Angela looked up sharply, narrowing her gaze.  
“Was he the one that let her on that plane?”  
Jack met her gaze.  
“Dr Ziegler? I have no bloody idea, but you are not to blame him for this. You’re not to blame yourself, or anyone for this. This is not a case of fault. It’s a case of loss.”  
“You’re such a Boy Scout, Morrison. Did we run out of coffee in the lounge room again or something?” A man stood leaning against the doorway, hands in his hoodie pocket.  
Angela stood up, flustered.  
“Good morning, Reyes. I was just leaving.”  
The man raised a thick eyebrow before shrugging his giant shoulders.  
“Ok doctor. And for the last time, call me Gabe.”  
Angela smiled a thin smile.  
“Have a good day, Reyes.”  
Gabriel rolled his eyes.  
“Lord have mercy.” he muttered, grinning as the woman left the room. Jack didn’t meet his gaze, looking down at his hands instead.  
“Whats up, Jack? Did the doctor tell you off again?”  
Jack kept looking at his hands.  
“Did you mess up your manicure?”  
Jack curled his fist.  
“Gabe.”  
The man in the doorway had somehow acquired two beers. He threw one to Jack before taking a swig of his own. Gabe cocked his head as his commander failed to catch the can, suddenly realising that something was wrong. He narrowed his eyes.   
“I’m sorry Gabe. It’s Miss Oxton. She’s gone.”  
Gabriel didn’t react.  
“But she goes all the time, right? She’ll be back. She’s a fighter.”  
“No Gabe, she’s a soldier. And she’s not coming back.”  
Gabriel stopped. He looked at the man seated across from him, the man with the blonde hair and the blue cape, the hero. The hero who was giving up.  
“Who the fuck put you in charge, Morrison? No commander should give up on his soldiers, let alone on his friends.”  
Jack looked his hands again.  
“I’m sorry, Gabe. There is nothing that I could do.”  
Gabriel pulled his hood over his head, covering his crew-cut black hair. His face curled.  
“Amari would be disappointed in you.”   
Jack crushed the beer can in his hand. It was empty.  
“You keep her out of this.”  
Gabriel smirked, his dark skin glistening in the half light. The room had suddenly gotten very dark.  
“For the record, commander,” he drawled, stressing on Jack’s title and layering the word with sarcasm, “you call call me Reyes.”   
Gabriel left the room, leaving Jack Morrison alone with his thoughts, and a broken man alone with his own mind is a dangerous thing.

\-----

The night was still and cold, much like the emotions of the thing that crouched in the alcove of the ruined balcony. It absent mindedly brushed it’s silken bodysuit before raising its sniper rifle to its eye, peering through the scope at the luxurious buildings that sat a few hundred meters away. The contrast between the two locations amused it: it sat perched in the rubble of a once thriving town, looking at the state of the art facility that had helped destroy it. They’d claimed otherwise, of course. Overwatch always did. What was left of Amélie Lacroix knew better than that, but the thing that had replaced her didn’t particularly care. It didn’t want to analyse Overwatch’s actions, or it’s corruption, because the only thing that mattered was completing it’s mission. It was simply convenient that the two ideals lined up, so the two parts of Widowmaker were alert and peering through the scope rather than just the emotionless creature that inhabited Amélie’s body. Widowmaker noted to itself that it couldn’t be inhabiting its own body, and that thinking like this was going to give it a headache. Widowmaker shook its head, retracting its visor over its eyes and peering towards the Overwatch base again. Something suddenly moved and Widow fingered the trigger, turning its attention to the woman that had moved into its field of view. Information began to file onto the screens in its peripheral vision, informing it that the rather distraught looking figure was that of Dr Angela Ziegler. Widow huffed slightly: it had been instructed not to kill this one yet. The creature inside it shrunk down, resembling as close to disappointed as something without emotions could get. If it wasn’t part of itself, Windowmaker would have kicked it. Ziegler walked into another building, Widow tracking her with the gun the entire time. It wasn’t taking chances: it had been instructed not to be seen. It lowered the rifle and brushed its long ponytail back over its shoulder, the dark blue cords resting heavily against its spine. It flicked the scope to its eye again, adjusting its grip as something moved on the viewer. Another figure was walking between two buildings, but this time it was a man. The man turned towards it, and Widow dropped to the ground.  
“Bon sang à l'enfer.” It breathed, snaking its leg behind it and sinking into a seated position as it pushed its recon visor back into its hair. Its bosses were not going to be happy about a member of Overwatch potentially logging its appearance.The whole base could be on alert within a few minutes if it had been recognised. It moved a delicate hand from its knee and activated its visor again, scanning the image of the man and searching for a name within the installed database. Something stirred within Widow and it smiled slightly: maybe the consequences of being seen wouldn’t be as severe as it head feared, as man who had seen it was none other than Jack Morrison.


	3. Fragments of the Past

Lena laughed, blowing her hair out of her face as she slung one arm flirtatiously over her girlfriend's shoulders. The girl laughed, her orange hair cascading around her face, framing it perfectly.   
“You be careful now, Lena. Don't you go doing any crazy stunts, alright? I want you back in one piece.”   
Lena Oxton grinned from ear to ear.   
“Oh, rubbish! You worry too much, love. I’ll be fine! I’ve been doing this for years.”  
Emily rolled her eyes and pulled Lena towards her. Her girlfriend cuddled into her oversized sweater as they kissed. Then Lena broke away, green eyes dancing as a bell tolled in the distance. She dropped her sunglasses over her eyes and struck an exaggerated pose in her oversized blue and yellow flight suit.  
“How do I look, babe?”  
Emily rolled her eyes and shoved Lena towards the landing strip.  
“Get lost! You don't want to be late on your first day of flying the... whatever-the-hell-it’s-called.”  
Lena laughed again. Emily loved that sound.  
“The Slipstream, love. I’ll be back in time for tea, ok? I love you!”  
Emily smiled as she watched the other girls dash towards the hanger, excitement evident in her every step.  
“I love you too.”

Emily sat up in bed, eyes snapping open, heart straining in pain against her chest. She rubbed her eyes, pushing her thick hair from her face as she reached for her phone and opened speed dial. She curled her legs to her chest and glanced at the empty space in the bed next to her.  
“Hello?” the voice on the other end of the line sounded distant, even hesitant. Emily noted that it was three in the morning, and she had probably rudely awoken the person she was calling.  
“I’m really sorry doc, I know it’s early and all but, well, I was just wondering…”  
“I’m sorry Emily, but if there had been any news I would have told you.” Angela Ziegler sounded defeated. Emily’s heart broke but she tried to hide it.  
“Oh, ok. Sorry for bothering you, doctor.” she went to hang up the phone, Angela spoke again.  
“Do you miss her, Em?”  
Emily stopped, her throat choking up. She couldn’t find words.  
“Miss her? Doctor, I miss her every single day. It doesn’t get any easier, you know? I thought that maybe the pain would dull or something, but it hasn’t. I get ripped apart every time I think of her.”   
Angela paused.  
“Emily, I’m going to call you back, ok? Just hang tight.”  
Angela Ziegler hung up the phone, leaving Emily sitting on her bed, wondering why the doctors tone of voice had changed so suddenly.

\-----

Angela Ziegler hung up the phone as she sat at her desk, halfway through officially registering Lena Oxton’s death. Her mind wandered to all of the death certificates her hand had signed, all the people who’d died on her table, all the hands she’d held as life drained from persons eyes. She turned her head, her gaze resting on her valkyrie suit as it stood against the wall in its glass case. The gold and yellow ombre fabric glittered beautifully in the light of her lamp, the wings extended majestically, splaying elegant shadows on the wall. Angela thought all all the people she’d saved wearing that suit. All the children who’d stared into the sky helplessly as their worlds fell apart around them, only to see an angel descend from the heavens with arms extended. How many kids were alive today because of her? How many tiny, warm, breathing bodies had she pulled from rubble, how many families had she reunited?   
And yet still her mind focused on the lives she hadn’t saved, on the frozen horror on the faces of the children she hadn’t made it to in time. She thought of the shadows that death etched onto the faces of the young, a shadow that she had seen so much throughout her lifetime. So when Jack Morrison walked into her office and she knew what he was going to say, she also knew her answer.  
“No.”  
Jack stood behind her chair, resting his hands over the back.  
“I’ve thought about it. I really have. I know he’s dangerous, but I can’t. I won’t.”  
Jack’s hands clenched and the chair cracked. Angela stood up, her voice catching in fear. She reached backwards, fingers reaching for her sidearm.  
“Jack, please. I am a doctor. My nano-technology is meant to save people, not kill them. I can’t, I won’t, you can’t make me…”  
“Mercy…”  
Angela slapped him across the face with her gun. It struck the commander across his cheekbone, drawing blood. Angela curled her fingers around the trigger, licking her lips.  
“Don’t. You. ‘Mercy’. Me. You’re not going to change my mind.”  
Jack raised his hands, his eyes on the gun. He knew she wouldn’t shoot to kill, but he’d seen her do some serious damage with the small firearm. His guard was up.  
“Angela, I know you’ve been nervous since that bounty hunter thing, but we’d only use your tech that way once. Just once. Please. I can’t protect all these people anymore.   
I saw Amélie the other day.”  
Angela lowered the gun.   
“Then I’m leaving. You can’t expect me to heal people that you’re putting in danger.”  
She turned to her suit. Jack tried to stall.  
“Then you condemn these people to death. Please Angela, we just need to get rid of him, then Talon’s information supply would cut off and we could take them down.”  
Angela opened the door of the cabinet and lifted the suit from its hooks. Jack turned away as she stepped into it, the body armour plates closing over her doctors coat. She picked up her staff from against the wall and it clicked against her back, magnets holding it in place. Her wings rustled as she rolled her shoulders.  
“I know that it wasn’t a bounty hunter, Jack, so cut it with that story. But your friend couldn't figure out how to mess with the molecules, could she? So you’ve come back to me.”   
Jack Morrison looked up sharpy, a shadow creeping into his face. Everything was shadowed these days. Everything about Overwatch was dying.  
“Leave Ana out of this. Her business is her own.”  
“So you admit she’s not dead.”  
“She’s as dead as Lena is.”  
Angela fingers froze from where she’d been positioning her metal headpiece. Jack knew he’d struck a nerve, and he pressed against it.  
“You’re no better than the rest of us, Angela. But if you help me now, Lena can stay dead. Officially. I’ll even sign the paperwork.”  
Angela turned around. They stood in silence, the angel and the hero, alone in a room in the dead of the night, the numbness of the quiet matching the numbness of Angela’s emotions.  
“You’re a monster, Jack. I thought you were better than this.”  
Jack shrugged.   
“Just get it done. I’ll do my part, then it’s up to you.”  
He left. Angela sunk to the floor, wings shimmering with yellow particles as her skirt settled around her. She blinked through her tears, thinking about the cruelty of the world, and thinking not only about all the lives she’d failed to save, but also about the lives she was about to help take.


	4. The Lost Cowboy

The liquor burned his throat as he slammed the glass onto the bench. He leaned against the bar, smiling groggily, his hat tipping into his eyes as they watered slightly. The girl next to him leant back on her stool, grinning from ear to ear as she beckoned the bartender over, ordering another round of shots. Jesse McCree rolled his eyes.  
“You call that a fair fight?” He clenched his mechanical fist, the joints clicking in a satisfying way as he knocked back his fifth glass. The woman smiled again, dramatically placing her empty glass down besides his.  
“You’re getting old, McCree. If, that’s even your real name.”  
The cowboy grinned, pushing his hat back on his dark brown hair.  
“Girl, I’ve told you before: No matter how drunk you get me, my lips remain sealed.”  
The woman shrugged, smoothing her purple highlights with a perfectly manicured hand.  
“Ah well, no harm in trying. Camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente, as they say.”  
“Bloody Mexicans.” McCree muttered, kicking his boots onto the bar and draping his torn red cloak over his face. The woman clicked her fingers and the lights cut out, the bar all but empty by this point. The augments that were built into her half-shaved head glowed a soft purple in the twilight.  
“Why don’t I ask you some questions instead, Sombra? How’d you end up drinking in a bar with an insane old man?”  
The woman laughed softly.   
“We’re all running from something, aren’t we, Jesse?”  
The man looked at her, placing a cigarette between his teeth.  
“Or someone.”  
He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was frowning.  
“Watch your back, cowboy. I know more about you than you realize.”  
McCree placed his chin on his chest, gently puffing the smoke from his nose.  
“And yet I still fail to see how you think that any information you have could be used as leverage over me.”   
“You’ve killed some innocent people.”  
“I’ve killed more than some. I could give you the addresses of their families, if you’d like. Because, you see, I visited them all personally. Because I tried my best to fix my mistakes. But you, Sombra, you’re running from yours. At least I didn’t play with Talon.”  
Sombra’s face was still hidden in the darkness, but McCree could see her move by the way her bright jacket caught the moonlight and shimmered. He felt the gun press to his temple, but didn’t even flinch. She wouldn’t kill him. No other man in this town would dare challenge her to a drinking battle, and she loved good competition. Sombra scoffed.  
“You know me too well, Jesse. Sweet dreams.”  
A distorted sound rung in McCree’s ears as Sombra activated her invisibility and left the bar. He hadn’t bothered to track her yet. All he wanted was to drink. The lights flickered strangely, giving him a headache.   
He leant forward, reaching behind the counter to grab a bottle of whatever he could. He bit off the cap and put his lips to the rim, draining it dry in a matter of seconds. He wiped his mouth his his sleeve, but her words still crept into the back of his mind.  
You know me too well, Jesse.  
Because that was the thing: McCree knew that he didn’t. And he didn’t like that.


	5. Times Change

Angela sat crossed legged on her bed, practically swimming in an oversized sweater, her suit neatly folded on her dresser. She wanted it closer to her from now on. For some reason it scared Jack, and Angela planned to harness that fear. A stray strand of hair crept into her eyes and she brushed it away, weaving it absentmindedly against her head. She looked at the phone in her hand, looking at the number she’d entered in the dial pad. She’d been calling a lot of strange numbers recently. Numbers she never thought she’d call again. Maybe even numbers she wasn’t supposed to call. She pushed dial anyway, holding the phone to her ear, breathe misting slowly in the cold of the room.  
“Uh, hello?”  
Angela pressed her knees down into the bed, squeezing her eyes shut.  
“Hello, Winston. How have you been?”  
The deep voice on the other side of the phone sounded astonished.  
“Dr Ziegler! How nice it is to speak with you again.”  
Angela ran her fingers through her hair.  
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather skip the formalities. I need your help.”  
The voice scoffed.  
“Well then. Where are you situated these days, Dr?”  
“The Switzerland base, Winston. Why does it matter? I’ve got a patient that I can’t help, but you can.”  
The voice paused, and Angela knew she had him hooked. Now all she had to do was reel him in.  
“Her molecules are out of sync with the regular flow of time. We’re calling it ‘Chronal Dissociation’ officially, but she’s practically a ghost. This is not a medical matter, I believe you’ll agree.”  
“Hmm.”  
Angela heard a soft ‘pop’. She presumed he’d opened a jar of peanut butter.  
“When can I pick her up?”  
“See Winston, that’s the thing. Jack isn’t very happy with you, and, well…”  
Winston growled softly. Angela wondered if he could sense her fear through the phone.  
“Well, things are going downhill here. Bad thing, bad people, they’re showing up again.”  
The voice on the other end of the phone went quiet.  
“Dr Ziegler, I will help your patient. But I’m wondering if you need my help, too.”  
Angela smiled sadly, burying her head in her sweater.  
“I’ll be fine, Winston. I’ll text you when you can pick her up, ok? I need to figure out how to move her.”  
“Ok, doctor. Maybe you could consider joining me. This girl of yours could probably use some more company.”  
Angela sunk down onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.  
“The reason you left it the reason I need to stay, Winston. The more violent Overwatch’s missions become, the more casualties I have to treat. If I leave now they’ll probably slap an apron on Reyes and call him ‘head doctor’.”  
Winston laughed gently.  
“Ok, Angela. I’ll await your message with anticipation.”  
The call shut off and Angela ;ut down the phone with a shaky hand. She hated manipulating her friends, but she had to make sure Lena was safe before everything went to hell. Her gaze flickered to her suit again. How long could she still remain an angel, if the world began to burn around her? Angela didn’t know. She pulled the covers up to her chin, closing her eyes and wrapping her fingers around her sidearm. She wasn’t taking any chances.

\-----

It stared at the night sky, trying to slow its breathing. It had had a bad dream again, and even though it's mind was numb its heart was racing. The increased blood flow made its blue skin tingle.  
Widowmaker crossed its legs and sat up, rubbing dust off its bulky metal boots and tightening its ponytail. It was time to move again, judging by the position of the sun. It didn’t want Commander Morrison to come snooping, even if the stakes were lowered. The bad dream lingered on the edge of its mind, but it pushed it away. It's heart felt weightless in its chest as it always did, and no matter how much seeing its dead husband's face in its sleep jarred it, it wasn’t going to suddenly reawaken the old Amélie. If that was how it worked, Widowmaker would have been dead a long time ago.  
Yet it was still bothered, as it grappled between the buildings, feeling the satisfying jerk as the metal claw bit deep into the stone. It was bothered by the look on his face, frozen into her mind. It was bothered by the way he had grabbed Amélie’s shoulders as he crumpled, the life fading from his eyes.  
It was bothered by how his death had made it feel alive.  
Widowmaker swung itself over a ruined wall and landed neatly, sinking to a seated position and cokcing its rifle. The mechanical device near its ear buzzed and it snapped its recon visor over its eyes, activating the call.  
“You took your time.”  
The voice belonged to a man, but it was distorted. Widowmaker respected the owner's concern to keep his identity secret, but it was somewhat amused by the knowledge that it knew the owners voice in person.  
Or Amélie had, at least.  
“Are you giving me the silent treatment again?”  
“Oh, partez.” muttered Widowmaker, inspecting its gun. It had little time or energy for chatting. It just wanted to get the job done, and get out of this ghost town. As much as it enjoyed standing in Overwatch’s mess, it much prefered actually shooting things. It had began to become addicted to the feeling it got when it took someone's life.  
“I’m not going anywhere. Is the target on site?”  
Widowmaker smirked.  
“How do expect me to know, if you won’t let me get near the building? I can’t see anything from these ruins. Tu es bêtes comme tes pieds, Monsieur.”  
“If you weren’t so useful I’d kill you myself.”  
Widowmaker smirked, stretching its arms above its head carelessly.  
“Oui en effet.”  
The voice seemed unimpressed, and Widow knew it was testing his patience. It sighed, placing its gun on the ground.  
“The target is in the vicinity, I’m sure of it. Someone broke into the base two days ago, and the only person with the necessary intel to infiltrate it is the one we’re looking for. D'accord?”  
“Make it quick. Shit’s going to go down soon.”  
The call disconnected, and Widow pushed the visor plates off its eyes. It's skin tight suit clung to its toned legs as it straightened up, its curves framed by the shifting blue and purple fabric. It fumbled at a latch on its rifle for a moment before unlatching a small compartment, pulling out a photograph. The picture showed a tall woman, with long black hair and a tattoo under her left eye. Widowmaker crumpled the image again and replaced it within the gun. It was an old photo, but resources were limited in the assasin business now-days. Widow couldn’t help but be agitated that if it hadn’t have missed a shot many years ago it wouldn’t be standing here in the cold. It was agitated that its movements were now restricted, because its aim had been off on the other side of the world and its bullet had missed its mark.  
Widowmaker was agitated because it could have killed Ana Amari almost a lifetime ago.


	6. Things Fall Apart

McCree dug his heels into the horse's side, adrenaline pumping through him as his brown locks flew around in the wind. This was how he liked to live: free, and without a care in the world.  
Without the shadow of death hanging over him.  
He swung his legs around and slid off the horse's back, stroking its neck with the tips of his mechanical fingers as his boots dug into the ground. Sombra st perched on the fence across the field, her eyes locked onto his every movement. She was keeping an usually constant eye on him, as he’d figured that out that morning. Now he needed to figure out who was paying her. He flashed her a cocky grin, his perfect white teeth catching the light.  
“How’d I do?”  
Sombra raised a hand to her chin in exaggerated thought, tracing her lips with her elongated purple nails.  
“Hmm… the dismount was a bit sloppy. 6/10.”  
McCree rolled his eyes, snaking an arm around her waist. He noted how she instantly tensed, arching her back and locking her shoulders. She was ready to snap his arm if necessary, but the cowboy still hadn’t figured out how to trigger that. Might make an interesting day trip though.  
“So…” he drawled, holding her eye contact. Sombra stared back at him though her purple contacts, her styled eyebrows arched suspiciously.  
“Let go of me, Jesse. Are you drunk again?”  
McCree shook his head.  
“No. Not this time. I’ve stopped drinking for the moment, see. You spiking my drinks has really helped my alcohol addiction.”  
He tried to read her expression, but she’d wiped her face clean. She was staring dead forwards, the augments on the side of her head pulsating gently with purple light. The patterns she’d shaved there had started to grow out, which had been the first sign that McCree had been in this town longer than he’d thought he had been.  
“So how long have I been here, girl? You been hacking my memories or something? Or do those knockout drugs and that strobe light coma thing you trigger every-night induce amnesia as well as giving me headaches?”  
Sombra’s face was still a board, but McCree could see gears spinning in her head. He could guess that her other hand was wrapped around her machine gun, the hand he couldn’t see. She was still trying to stay one step ahead, but McCree felt sure he was about to jump the fence and lap her.  
“What are you trying to keep me away from?”  
A smile played on Sombra’s lips and she raised her eyebrows, the cut before the arch perfectly lining up with the outer corner of her eyes.  
“I’m hurt, Jesse. Friends don’t drug friends.”  
“We’re not friends.”  
“Drinking buddies then.”  
“Only because if you ain’t with me they won’t serve you.”  
“Coming from the thirty-seven year old who dresses as a cowboy.”  
“Says the grown woman who dresses like a fifteen year old going through an identity crisis.”  
Sombra turned to him in her luminescent blue and purple scaled raincoat and scowled.  
“Vete a la mierda.” she muttered, fading out of sight.  
McCree nodded wisely, knowing well that she had probably already sprinted around a hundred meters away from him, as her speed increased when she activated her stealth. One of the few facts he’d managed to pick up about this girl who had suddenly become one of the potentially most prominent threats in his life.  
The thing is, McCree didn’t really care.  
He knew she’d be back. She was being paid to keep him here, so keep him here he would.  
All he needed to do now was figure out where it was he wasn’t supposed to go, and then book the first flight to said location.  
Maybe he could even make her draw her gun and actually pull the trigger for once.  
McCree stood alone, in the middle of an empty town, and smiled wider than he did in years.  
This was going to be fun. 

\-----

Angela tried to focus her vision, but fatigue kept causing the view through her microscope to blur and spin. She gave up, leaning back on her chair and raising her eyes to the heavens. This felt wrong, trying to corrupt her own nanotechnology. Trying to wire it to kill instead of heal. She could almost feel the sparkling yellow cloud judging her as she tried to make it into something that it was never intended to be. The substance coiled in the petri dish, a liquid and a gas at the same time, becoming something that just existed. Something that just was. Angela glared at it, although that didn’t seem to make a difference. She sighed, pulling her hair back into a messy bun and adjusting her white coat. She had one more trick up her sleeve, but it was a last resort. Angela mentally prepared herself for the physical stress she was about to put herself through, the whole time kicking herself repeatedly. She should stand up to Jack Morrison, not nod and smile and go along with what he said, like a dog, especially when he wanted her to kill a man. A man that was her friend, nonetheless.  
Angela then noted, as she rolled up her sleeves and began to concentrate on the energy within the room, that she strongly suspected that this man was working with Talon, and was the reason that the most decorated enemy sniper in the current day was hanging around. Maybe she didn’t need Jack’s gun to her head to get the job done.  
Angela splayed her fingers and she felt the energy pouring from the petri dish. This was what her nanotech was, after all. Isolated soul energy. Angela hesitated for a moment before yanking the energy away, removing the fragments of soul but leaving behind its form. As she coiled the light around her fingers she knew she’d just crossed a line, stepped into a place that she couldn’t go back from. She dispersed the light and turned back to the dish, squinting through the microscope lense. Her realized her mouth was dry.  
The substance within the dish acted exactly the same, except that it wasn’t really there. It was a deep black colour, but so dark that it wasn’t so much a colour, more the absence of one. Nothing existed within that dish. It was a black hole in a liquid form.  
In spite of herself Angela stared in awe: this was somewhat of a scientific breakthrough.  
Yeah. In killing people.  
Angela ignored herself, trying to tell her inner demons that she was doing and for a good cause.  
However, the more she stared at the black liquid, the more unsure she got.


	7. Alone

Her coffee mug burnt her hands as she held it, the rising steam quickly fading in the crisp autumn air. The trees that surrounded her were dappled with oranges, reds and yellows, collaging against the sky in their gorgeous shades. Emily sipped her coffee as she sat on her porch, curled into the corner of the bench with her knees drawn into her chest for warmth. Angela hadn’t called back, and Emily had given up. She closed her eyes. It hurt, it really did. But maybe Lena was really gone…

Lena wrinkled up her face, grinning behind the blindfold.  
“Jeez love, just tell me already! The suspense is doing my head in.”  
Emily laughed, pushing her girlfriend in the small of the back.  
“Just a little further, Lena. Come on now, play nice.”  
Lena blindly groped with her hand, finding Emily’s hair and stroking it. Emily kissed her cheek.  
“Ok hon. Open your eyes!”  
Lena pulled the blindfold away, eyes sparkling with wonder as Emily unveiled the room. Balloons were strung up around the room, a ‘congratulations’ banner strung over the window.  
“Aw, babe!” Lena’s smile was giant as she wrapped her arms around Emily. “I love it! Thank you!”  
“Congratulations on the new job babe.” smiled Emily, burying her face in Lena’s short hair.  
Lena pulled away, staring into Emily’s deep green eyes.  
“I’ll make you proud, Emily. We’ll get enough money to get a new place, away from this stinking city. It’ll be good, I promise.”  
Emily kissed her girlfriend.

Then she opened her eyes, and suddenly the beautiful autumn day seemed a little less bright.


	8. Don't poke the bear

It was pitch black, but Jesse McCree wasn’t asleep: he worked best in the dark. He leaned his weight against the door, feeling it give way against his shoulder. He slowly forced the door open, his dark eyes searching through the hotel room. On the other side of the room Sombra’s augments glowed, illuminating her grip on her gun. McCree felt something stir inside him, almost a sense of familiarity, as this was the way he slept: if anything makes a noise, shoot it. The strategy hadn’t failed yet. He crept across the floor, testing each board with his boots before pressing his weight into them, trying with all the power he could muster to not make the bloody floor creak. That would be a terrible cliche to get caught by. Her phone sat on top of the dresser in it’s studded silver case. It was as obnoxious as her fashion taste, McCree noted. He wasn’t as good at hacking as the mexican was, but he’d figured out her four digit number code.  
Granted, it had taken him a week.   
The phone unlocked with no problems, and McCree opened messages. He felt bad, going behind his friend’s back. His friend was being paid to restrain him, but what were friends for?  
He began to read the conversations, and with every text he became more and more unsure about the last question he’d asked himself. He wasn’t a big reader, but definite key words struck him.  
Overwatch.  
Switzerland.  
Bomb.  
Traitor.  
Mission.  
Friend.  
He made a note in his head that she’d told whoever she was texting that she wasn’t going to be able to kill him. He also made a note that she didn’t capitalise her ‘i’s. People like that annoyed him. He closed to phone and put it down.  
“I’m sensing a lack of trust here, McCree.”  
The cowboy didn’t even turn around. He knew her gun was aimed at his head. He raised his hands above his head.  
“Don’t mind me, amigo. I was just leaving.”  
He moved towards the door. Sombra loaded the gun.  
“Sorry, Jesse. I can’t let you leave.”  
McCree wrapped his mechanical hand around the door handle.  
“I don’t need your permission to do things, pal.” he muttered.  
“Good thing I wasn’t offering it, mate.”  
McCree open the door and Sombra stood up, gun unwavering.   
“You’re not going anywhere, Jesse McCree. You’re going to sit here like a good boy and let the drugs kick in again. You can’t do anything now, anyway. It’s too late.”  
McCree’s hand strayed to his peacekeeper.   
“Please, Jesse. This is for your own good.”  
McCree left the room and shut the door behind him. He waited a moment before bolting for the stairs, childlike adrenaline flowing through him. He’d pushed her buttons, snapped her. Finally. He hit the ground and made a break for the bar door, trying to remember where the nearest airport was, and how much money he’d need to steal on the way there to get a one-way ticket to Switzerland. Something crashed behind him.  
Oh yeah. His newly aggravated friend.   
McCree cracked his knuckles, and turned around.


	9. Fading

Angela stormed into the containment facility, bright light zipping around her like fireflies as she threw open the door. She was wearing her Valkyrie suit again, and the skirt flew around her in colors of yellow and orange. Angela peered into the sealed room, glancing at the timer on the wall.  
“Ok.” She murmured, flexing her fingers. “I can do this.”  
She leant forwards into her boots, nervousness clouding her mind. She wasn’t sure if this was going to work. She closed her eyes, feeling her suit come to life and energy filling the room. Her toes slowly rose of the floor and she felt for the life, found it, swirled the energy between her fingers and twisted it, spun it. The weaving streams of energy became a sphere and she curled her hand around it, throwing her wings back as she raised the orb from the ground. Piercing light flooded from the small room in front of her and Mercy fell to the ground, momentarily disorientated. She’d forgotten how much energy that action took, especially when the soul she was trying to revive wasn’t alive to begin with. Lena Oxton lay on the floor, writhing in silent pain as the timer on the wall started. Mercy swooped towards her, gliding sharply across the distance, staff in hand. She flicked a switch and the staff rotated, emitting yellow light, but the beam wouldn’t latch on. Lena screamed without making a sound.  
{You promised you wouldn’t do that again.}  
“I know, I’m sorry, I had to.”  
{You said you’d let me die.}  
Mercy fell to one knee, gesturing with her hand.  
“I know I did. But some people didn’t agree, and I can’t hurt people anymore. I can’t hurt people ever again. Lena, I can’t save you.  
But I know who can.”  
{Wait, what do you mean ‘anymore’? Doctor, what happened?}  
Angela froze.  
{Angela, talk to me!}  
“Be quiet. Do you hear that?”  
Lena shook her head, her eyes inquisitive. Half of her face distorted.  
“Shit. We’ve got to go. NOW.”  
{Doc, I can’t move. The walls…}  
The building rumbled.  
“Lena, we’ve got to go. Move!”  
A deafening explosion rocked the walls, and the ceiling collapsed. A chunk of concrete cracked, coming loose as sirens began to wail.  
“He’s not going to wait for us. Come on, Lena, we’ve got to go!”  
Mercy made a grab for the girl's hand, but her fingers passed right through her. The ceiling began to collapse. Lena’s face contorted as she focussed, squeezing her eyes shut. She glitched and disappeared, causing Mercy to cry out.  
“Lena!”  
A blur in the corner of her vision made her turn, and she whirled around. Lena stood in the doorway, gesturing desperately.  
“Come on, come on, let’s move!”  
Mercy flew towards her, the air shimmering as Lena glitched again, moving across the courtyard. Another explosion rocked the base, sending Mercy sprawling to her feet.  
{What’s going on, doc?}  
Mercy coughed, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth.  
“It’s Jack he’s gone mad. He’s going to blow up the base…”  
Pain flashed across Lena’s face.  
“We’re running out of time, I’m not letting you fade again. We’ve got to get out of here!”  
Screams of pain and fear began to creep into Mercy’s head. She tried not to think about all the agents that lay trapped under the rubble. All the lives she couldn’t save. Mercy flexed her shoulders.  
“Come on soldier, let’s get you out of here.”  
She turned to face Lena and something hit her across the face.She dropped to the ground, pain blinding her vision as she felt her suit activate, healing her. She rolled over, whipping out her sidearm to face her attacker.

\----

Sombra threw a punch but McCree caught it, jerked it to the side and swung the mexican over the bar. Glass smashed and Sombra grunted, curling into a ball and pushing herself to her feet. She whipped her gun from her coat and splayed wildly, wiping blood from above her eye in an attempt to aim. McCree dropped to the ground and combat rolled, fanning the hammer of his gun in the place he’d last seen Sombra. She was gone.  
“Bloody hell.” grimaced McCree, pulling a shard of glass from his side as he spun on his heel, eyes searching for the woman he was trying to kill.  
Something crackled by his ear and he swung his gun, the hammer making contact with something and sending it sprawling. Sombra faded into existence but was already moving, picking up a chair and smashing it against McCree’s head. He dropped to the ground, the room spinning as he groped for his gun, trying to reload. Sombra began to pulsate, purple light filing down the tubes around her arms and bunching up in her fist. The cowboy coughed blood, scooting to his feet as his attacker moved towards him. McCree raised his gun shakily, aiming at her head. 

\-----

“Jack?”  
Jack Morrison stared at her, an evil light playing in his eyes.  
“Don’t you have a job to do, doc?”  
“No…” whispered Mercy, feeling her cheekbones re-knit as Jack turned to Lena. She girl stood up, feet slipping through the bricks that lay broken all around her.  
“Lena… run.”  
Jack grinned.  
“No need, doc. She’s out of time. Now get. It. Done.”  
Lena fell to the ground as her legs disappeared, her physical form fading. Jack cocked his rifle as gunfire filled the air.  
“Looks like we’ve got company. I’ll see you on the other side, Doctor Ziegler.”  
Jack Morrison turned, running into the smoke. Mercy groaned, clutching her face.  
“Lena? Lena, stay with me, I’m going to get you help.”  
Lena’s mouth curled and she gritted her teeth.  
“Ok, listen to me. Someone’s going to come and pick you up in three days exactly, when all of this is over. He’s going to help you, he’s my friend. But you need to be here, ok? Promise me.”  
Lena opened her eyes, looking right at Mercy. She stared for the longest time, before smiling sadly.  
{Whatever the doctor orders.}  
Mercy nodded sharply and then Lena was gone.The screams were getting louder. A ship roared overhead. Mercy grabbed her staff, unlatching the small bag on her hip. She stared at the small vial contained within, stared at her reflection in the black liquid. Stared at what she’d hoped her nano-technology would never become. She stuffed it back into the bag, flicking open her phone, scrolling down to find Emily’s number. She pressed the phone to her ear and bit her lip, crouching behind a hunk of rubble as she waited for the dial tone to go through.  
“Hey, it’s Emily. I can’t come to the phone right now, please leave a message!”  
Mercy let out a shuddering breath and closed her eyes.  
“Hello Emily, it’s Doctor Ziegler here. I’m going to check on Lena now, but hopefully we’ll have her back to you in a few days. I’ll send you through the address, just, turn up in about a week, ok? I’ll let her know you’re coming.”  
Mercy hung up the phone, keying in an address that was not the one belonging to the base she was standing on. She wasn’t convinced that it would be here for much longer anyway. Mercy’s fingers flew across the keypad, messaging the other person that she’d promised news to.  
Come get her. As quick as you can, but give it enough time for the dust to settle and for them to remove the bodies. Don’t look for me.  
“I’m so sorry, Winston. You don’t know what you’re in for.” she murmured, closing the phone.  
Gunfire sprayed across the courtyard and Mercy couldn’t even tell who was shooting at who. It was probably Morrison killing any agents who were trying to stop him. But she had to focus.  
She had to find Reyes.


	10. All Men Must Die

“Sombra, listen. I don’t want to shoot you.”  
Sombra kept walking forwards, fist curled, gun loaded, face cold.  
“You’re my mission, Jesse. I don’t really have a choice, ay? No hard feelings, cowboy.”  
McCree fired once, and missed. As he fell to the floor he noted that whatever he’d been drinking for the last few months must have contained some sort of delayed poison. That or he was just really tired, but he doubted it. Mcrees eye began to glow, and in his vision a red dot began to form on Sombra’s head. She didn’t seem to notice that he was emitting red light. She was probably trying to find the most effective way to kill him.  
The red dot became an outline of her skull. A guaranteed hit. He placed his finger on the trigger, ready to shoot, but Sombra flicked her hand and the light she’d been brewing latched onto him. Her fingers flew and something clicked before McCree had time to react, and suddenly she was in front of him and the red skull was gone. Sombra met his gaze.  
“Please. You thought I’d let you use ‘dead eye’? How stupid do you think I am?”  
McCree’s vision was clouded by haze. He had to stall for time until the hack ran it’s course. His robotic arm hung useless at his side, twitching with the purple light.  
“Well, kill me then. It’s what you came to do.” McCree dipped his head, his hat tipping over his eyes. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of looking into his soul as he died.  
“Adiós.” Sombra swung the gun to the center of his face, staring at him down the barrel.  
But she couldn’t see McCree smile. She failed to see him uncurl his mechanical palm, and failed to see him move his wrist.  
She pulled the trigger, but failed to see the flashbang until it hit her.  
Somewhere in the town, a clock struck twelve.

\-----

The world exploded and Mercy was thrown to the ground, smashing against a pile of rock and arching her back as pain wrenched up her spine.

\-----

Sombra’s eyes widened as her world filled with light and she fell backwards. McCree lunged and threw a punch, sending the mexican girl sprawling. She hit the ground and McCree dropped on top of her, pinning her shoulders with his mechanical arm and pressing his gun into her head. 

\------

On the other side of the world Emily’s phone buzzed.

\-----

Mercy cried out and rolled sideways as the pile of rubble she’d been thrown into gave way, narrowly missing chunks of falling debris as she tried to get away. The screams were getting louder and louder, filling her mind and tying up her thoughts until she heard it, slicing through the screams and reminding her of what she was about to do.

\-----

Sombra laughed weakly, spitting in McCree’s face.  
“Do it, Jesse. Kill me.”  
McCree’s finger played on the trigger and Sombra wrenched sideways, trying to escape. McCree headbutted her and she groaned, collapsing on the ground. The cowboy pressed a hand into the wound in his side and lay down next to her in the ruins of the bar. Neither moved.

\-----

“Doctor…”  
His voice filled her mind and Mercy began to take shaky steps towards the sound.  
“Reyes? Hold tight, I’m coming to get you.” her voice shook. She was trying to act calm, to soothe him, to make him drop his guard. It wasn’t working because she was terrified. She heard him grimace.  
“Well, I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.”  
Mercy located the source of the voice, but could barely see the giant man trapped under a marble pillar. She bit her lip. She could see his face. Mercy fell to her knees, tugging uselessly at the arm that protruded from the wreckage. Gabriel Reyes grunted in pain, his eyes desperately latching onto her as he clawed at her arm.  
“Doctor… please get me out of here.”  
Mercy froze, fingers groping at the bag at her waist. She hadn’t thought of that. Free Reyes, get him a gun, get him to kill Jack… her conscience would be clear.  
Mercy closed the bag, and Widowmaker took aim.

\-----

McCree and Sombra lay in the bar and said nothing. The silence echoed around the room, before Sombra finally opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.  
“Want a drink?”  
McCree chuckled softly.  
“Only if you don’t go filling it with drugs again.”  
Sombra shrugged, wincing as she pulled herself to her feet.  
“No worries, cowboy. I think my bosses can consider this my resignation.”  
She dragged herself over to the liquor cabinet.  
“Do you think we should wake the bartender?” inquired McCree, hauling himself onto a stool. Sombra pulled a face.  
“Screw that.” she tossed a flask of whiskey to the cowboy, who caught it and drained it in a manner of seconds. McCree cocked his head.  
“You know what? I never liked you anyway.”  
Sombra smiled, sipping on her beer.  
“Shut up, Jesse.”  
Then the pair resumed their silence, both with their guards up, wondering what the hell was going to happen next.

\-----

Widowmaker retracted its scope, feeling slightly amused by the reaction of Doctor Ziegler. It hadn’t been shooting to kill, just shooting to remind. That was its mission, after all.  
Make sure that Overwatch fell, and make sure that Ziegler played her part.  
It’d kill her later, when her time had been spent. It smiled a cold, dead smile, strapped its rifle to its back and began to make its way towards the fresh wreckage of the Overwatch base.

\-----

Mercy lay on her stomach, hands over her head, sobbing. The shot had missed her head, but she was all too aware that that was because the shooter hadn’t been trying to kill her: she was crying because now she knew she had no choice. If she didn’t kill Reyes then this sniper would, and then she’d be killed herself and he’d still be dead.  
To kill Reyes or not to kill Reyes.  
Gabriel cried out in pain from under the pillar.  
“Any time now doc.”  
Mercy shook her head, eyes squeezed shut.  
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.  
“Kill me then!” she roared, throwing her head back, screaming to the sniper. “Kill me!”  
It became apparent that killing her was not the top of the snipers to-do list. Mercy turned to face Reyes again, completely numb. The once proud man moaned again, his dark fist glistening with sweat.  
“Who the fuck are you talking to?”  
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.  
Mercy blindly fumbled with the bag at her waist again, trying to get it open discreetly.  
“Amélie Lacroix, I think.”  
Mercy pictured the thin, blue figure, decked out in its body suit with its lethal aim. She presumed that Reyes was doing the same. There was a silence.  
“Get me out of here. NOW.”  
Mercy nodded.  
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.  
“I just need to give you some pain killers, ok? So I can move you.”  
What she could see of Gabriel’s head nodded. She hoped he couldn’t hear her voice shaking.  
Mercy pulled the vial from her hip with trembling hands. The black liquid within seemed to wrap around itself, darkness twisting with darkness in an endless void. She turned away from her patient slightly and withdrew from the bottle with a syringe. She wasn’t even sure if she could get a clean shot, or if this would even work. The creation of the serum had been an accident, she had no idea the effect it would have. But she could take a solid guess.  
“Hold still, Reyes.” she rolled up his sleeve, lining up the needle.  
“Doc? Please call me Gabriel.”  
Mercy pressed the needle against his skin and it slipped into his forearm. Her fingers gripped the plunger as Reye’s eyes locked onto the syringe. His arm tensed as he saw what was contained in the vial.  
“Angela, what the heck is that?!”  
Mercy’s voice choked as tears welled up in her throat, blurring her vision.  
“I’m sorry.” she managed to get the words out as she injected the fluid into the body of Gabriel Reyes. She ran the words over and over again in her head as his eyes locked onto hers, dark and unforgiving. She ran the words over and over again as Gabriel’s body melted to ash, disintegrating in her hands. He hadn’t even cried out.  
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.  
The world seemed to fall still as a slight breeze picked up the ashes and swirled them through the air. They railed slightly before dispersing. Dispersing just like her morals had, Mercy supposed. She didn’t even feel the breeze. She didn’t feel anything. Something clicked into place behind her, and Mercy didn’t even move to grab her firearm: she knew the sound of that gun.  
Widowmaker smiled.  
“Bonjour, docteur.”


	11. Explanations

McCree looked at Sombra through narrowed eyes.  
“Is there still time to get to Switzerland?”  
Sombra turned her phone on, staring at the clock. She shook her head.  
“No. He’s already dead.”  
McCree lowered his head, staring at his drink, somewhat alarmed.  
“Who’s dead?! Jack?”  
Sombra bit her lip, the purple lipstick staining her teeth.  
“Jack should be fine. Almost definitely. Unless you think that Angela Ziegler could take him down.”  
McCree put two and two together and his stomach dropped. The world slowed, slowed to only include himself and the girl sitting across from him.  
“Jack? Jack is the one who paid you to have me killed?”  
Sombra looked tired.  
“Not exactly. He just hired Talon. I came with that package.”  
“Then who’s dead?”  
McCree’s dark eyes found Sombra’s purple ones.  
“Sombra, friends tell friends who’s killed who.”  
“Gabriel Reyes.”  
McCree laughed, throwing his head back.  
“You can’t be serious! Morrison couldn’t take down Reyes if he tried.”  
“Good thing that Jack wasn’t the one with the task of killing him then.”  
The caught McCree mid-laugh. He stopped, looking somewhat stupid, his hat off center and his stubble growing out.  
“Then who the fuck killed him? Is killing him? Your ex-bosses crazy scheme is making my head hurt. Get me another drink.”  
As McCree choked down another flask of whiskey, he realized that he didn’t really care as much as he should. He’d left Overwatch a long time ago, and had never regretted that decision. The power-struggle between Morrison and Reyes had been bound to explode at some point, and there’s no time like the present. Sombra seemed to read his mind, and looked down. Clearly something was still bothering her, and it wasn’t McCree’s lopsided cowboy hat. She got up to leave the bar, probably to erase her identity and go into hiding, but McCree grabbed her arm, his metal fingers curling over her wrist.  
“What’s wrong?”  
Sombra looked down, her hair falling into her face.  
“Cowboy…”  
McCree didn’t let go of her arm, and she tucked her hair behind her ear, facing him.  
“Cowboy? I think you’d better give Angela Ziegler a call.”  
She flickered out of sight and McCree released his grip, his mind spinning, drink slowing filling his thoughts. He suddenly really wanted to sleep for a week. He pointed at the entire room, even though it was empty.  
“You’d better not be leaving. I’ve got business to finish with you.” his words slurred.  
The response came from right next to his ear, Sombra’s breathe tickling his neck.  
“Not in a million years, mi amigo.”  
Then she was gone, and McCree realized that she’d given him her phone.

\-----

Emily stared at the device in her hand, almost afraid to play to play the message but she did anyway.  
“Hello Emily, it’s Doctor Ziegler here. I’m going to check on Lena now, but hopefully we’ll have her back to you in a few days. I’ll send you through the address, just, turn up in about a week, ok? I’ll let her know you’re coming.”  
Emily played the message five times over, reading the address again and again until it was imbedded in her mind. She didn’t hear the explosions, or the screams, or the gunfire in the background, because she was too busy locking onto Angela’s words. To busy smiling and crying and hugging her knees.  
Too busy being happy.


	12. Descent into Madness

Mercy knelt on the ground, afraid to move. She hear could every beat of her heart, feel every breath she took. She began to count them, as she knew they could be her last.  
“Hello, Mrs Lacroix. I must say, the colour blue really suits you.”  
Widowmaker couldn’t tell if she was referring to its suit or its skin. Then it remembered that it didn’t care.  
“Such a sweet, foolish girl.” It purred, pressing the barrel of its rifle against Mercy’s head. It pulled back on the trigger slightly, charging up the shot. Mercy shakily raised her hands.  
“Look, I killed him. Isn’t that what you wanted?! Isn’t that what Jack paid you to enforce? Me killing one of my best friends?”  
Widowmaker didn’t remove the gun from her head, but it did look away from its scope.  
“You’re weak, docteur. One sign of possible danger, and you dropped your values and ran.” Widowmaker rolled its ‘r’s in an exaggerated way, as it enjoyed seeing the effect its words had on its new target. It was funny how collections of letters could trigger people.  
Mercy licked her lips, which she’d realized had once again turned bone dry.  
“Well then, Amélie, I guess we’re more alike than we realize. Maybe you’d mind not blowing my brains out?”  
Widowmaker laughed, kicking the doctor to the ground and pressing her metal heel into her back. Mercy cried out and emotion stirred within Widow.  
It almost felt alive.  
It snapped on its visor and put its eye back to the scope. Mercy closed her eyes, face pressed sideways into the dirt. Widowmaker smiled.  
“Adieu, chérie.” It tugged on the trigger, charging up the shot again.  
Mercy said a name, but Widow’s mind filtered it out. It detected this, and hesitated.  
“What did you say?”  
Mercy didn’t meet its eyes. Widowmaker repeated its question, digging its gun further into the back of the womans head.  
“Qu'avez-vous dit, Madame?”  
Mercy turned to face it, eyes red from crying, cheeks puffy, nose running, suit covered in debris and blood. Mercy stared at the emotionless creature in front of her, and repeated what she had said.  
Widowmaker smacked her gun into her back, slamming her head into the rocks.  
It knelt down, grabbing a bunch of Mercy’s hair in its hand. It yanked the woman’s head around, pressing its face right into her eyes.  
“Ferme ta bouche!” it snarled.  
Mercy laughed hysterically, her eyes become pits of swirling madness. She’d broken. Widowmaker usually killed its prey before they snapped, so this was a completely new experience.  
It was able to see Angela Ziegler for what she truly was.  
Widowmaker decided it didn’t want to shoot her anymore. It would be more fun to force her to exist in this state, mind broken, overrun by demons. Let the world see the most decorated doctor in history locked away in her own insane world. Besides, Widowmaker knew its actual mission would show up soon, one that would be much more punishing if she failed, so there was no point wasting bullets. Widowmaker turned to leave. Mercy rolled over, arching her back against the immense pain she was feeling. She looked at the retreating figure of Widowmaker and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.  
“Gérard was a fool, to love someone like you.”  
This time Widowmaker heard her. Its mind didn’t filter it, and the words cut through its brain like a knife, clouding its mind, filling it with a dark red fury.  
Maybe it did want to shoot Angela Ziegler, after all.  
Something broke inside Widowmaker. Something twisted around its heart and squeezed, and something inside it broke free and within seconds it was back in front of Mercy, looking back into her eyes with its lips drawn back in snarl.  
“You don’t know a thing about him.” hissed Amélie Lacroix. “Don’t you ever speak his name again.”  
Mercy’s eyes widened slightly, almost coming back to reality before she retreated, once again, into madness. She began to laugh even louder than before.  
“You’re blue!” she said it like it was the funniest thing in the world, but Amélie wasn’t listening to her anymore. She was too busy staring at her hands, at her legs, as her gun. She suddenly really wanted a mirror. The doctor began to sing quietly.  
Amélie shot her in the head and Mercy sunk to the ground.  
Widowmaker felt something then. Maybe it was pity, remorse, or maybe it was just the air on her skin. But it was something. And she was determined to hang onto it.  
She lowered her head in a moment of respect before remembering that she had a job to do, that there was one more person to kill before she could sit down for some serious therapy sessions with herself. Amélie Lacroix and the creature inside her body seemed to be working together, and Widowmaker was getting a headache again.  
It had been a really weird day, all things considered.


	13. Grown Men

McCree looked at the mobile in his hand before tentatively placing it face down on the counter. He then got up to leave but decided to first smash a chair into the phone, splintering the screen into a thousand pieces. McCree decided he didn’t want to get involved, so he went to bed. He fell onto the bed fully clothed and sleep took him instantly.  
When he awoke the first thing he noticed was that someone had tucked him in, pulling the covers up to his neck and placing his head on the pillow. The next thing he noticed was how much his head hurt. McCree gasped and pushed his hands over his eyes, trying to apply pressure to his throbbing brain.  
“I gave you the antidote. The drugs are leaving your system, but the next few days won’t be comfortable. Lo siento, vaquero.”  
Sombra got up from her chair and handed him a drink of water. McCree grunted his thanks before chugging half the glass and tipping the rest on his face. Sombra rolled her eyes, dragging her chair over to the bed, turning it backwards and sitting likewise, wrapping her arms around the back and resting her chin on the top.  
“You broke my phone.”  
“Yes. Yes I did.” McCree didn’t see any point in arguing. Sombra didn’t say anything. “With a chair.” McCree nodded as if that finalised the conversation.  
“You don’t care, do you?” Sombra sounded more inquisitive than accusing, and McCree realised she wasn’t talking about the phone. He rolled onto his side, burrowing into the covers. His hat hung above his bed, so his hair was falling into his face. He stared at Sombra from behind his brown locks.  
“You’re right. I don’t.”  
Sombra leant forwards on the chair, frowning slightly.  
“I thought they were your family, Jesse. I thought…”  
McCree shook his head.  
“No, Sombra. One day. When you’re older, you’ll understand. Something will happen, and you’ll see the world as I do. When you’ve killed enough people, felt enough guilt, and drunk away your sorrows one time too many, you’ll stop caring too.  
Overwatch did some bad things. Granted, they did some good things too. But tell that to the grieving mothers whose children I murdered.  
Because that’s what it is.  
Murder.  
Even if you’ve been ordered to. Even if the person you killed is a bad person, you’ve got to explain that to their parents. Their partners. Their children. And even if they believe you, they never quite forgive you. After a while, of course, that stops hurting. Lying becomes easier. Trust becomes harder. And at the end of the day?” McCree lowered his voice, talking almost to himself. “At the end of the day, you stop caring about the people who made you do it all. You don’t hate them, or like them, you just … stop. They just exist. It doesn’t matter, and it’s not your problem.” He closed his eyes, pulling the covers over his head and blocking out the world. “Now go away.” he grumbled.  
Sombra left without a sound, and McCree started to cry.


	14. New Beginings

It had taken him a while to land the jet in the wreckage, but he managed it. Angela hadn’t been answering his calls and it had taken him nearly a week to get permission to visit the site, but his patience had paid off and here he was. Winston felt sad as he navigated the wreckage, his massive arms easily allowing him to lumber through the rubble. This was his life's work, the corporation he’d help to create, and it was destroyed. Winston tried not to focus on that, and instead he started searching. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for, but he was not leaving until he found it.  
“Lena? Lena, are you there?” his deep voice echoed over the terrain. It seemed barren of all life, as the rescue squads and clean up crews had long since given up and left. There were no survivors, nothing to salvage from the wreckage. Winston knew that this meant there was a good reason that Angela hadn’t answered his calls, but he’d grieve later.  
He had a patient to help, if he could find her.  
Winston sat down, nestling himself under a half collapsed archway and opening a peanut butter jar. He’d wait a while, as long as it took, because he knew that the woman he was here to collect had no control over where she was, when she was and how long she was there for. Winston was unemployed, and had nothing better to do anyway.  
So he waited.

\-----

Winston realized he’d fallen asleep but wasn’t too fazed. That is, until he opened his to see a rather distressed looking girl standing two feet in front of him. He cursed quietly, his giant fingers reaching for his glasses and adjusting them on his face. He could tell who the girl was by the way the left side of her face was blurred and distorted.  
“Lena?”  
The girl looked terrified, beckoning at him frantically with her hands.  
“What is it, Lena? Come on, we need to go, you probably don’t have much time.”  
Lena shook her head, her short brown hair falling into her eyes. Winston noticed that her foot passed through the rocks she was standing on. Lena scrunched up her face and glitched sideways, reappearing about ten meters away.  
“Impressive.” Winston nodded in respect. “How did you manage that?”  
Lena looked at him funny, raising her hands in exasperation.  
“Oh right, ok. Lead on.”  
Lena nodded, glitching away again. Winston bunched up his legs and leapt, the jet pack strapped to his back propelling him right next to the girl. He landed heavily, wincing as the ruins of buildings stabbed into his feet. Lena passed right through the rubble, because she didn’t really exist. Winston supposed that made sense. Lena began pointing back at the ground, stabbing frantically with her fingers. Those same fingers disappeared before Winston’s eyes, and Lena bit her lip. She gestured towards the ground again, and Winston turned to look at it, keeping Lena in his peripheral vision. She sat down, watching him intently, hands wringing in her lap. Winston turned his full attention to the stack of rubble that lay under his feet. The world went silent. Then…  
“Incy wincy spider, climbed up the water spout…”  
It was faint, but it was there. The voice was soft and spiralling, choking and laughing at the same time, caught up in this nursery rhyme. Winston turned to Lena, who had curled into a ball. Upon seeing this the gorilla rolled forwards, unclasping a disk of metal from his back and sliding it under the girl. A sort of field rose from the disk, becoming an orb that enclosed the girl. She looked up sharply, pressing herself against the barrier, panic filling her gaze. Winston realized that she’d spent the last few months locked in a tiny cell, the last few months locked inside her own head, in her own hell. He pressed his hand against hers.  
“I need to know where you are, Miss Oxton. How else can I get you to her?”  
That stopped the panic.  
{Emily?}  
Lena’s one remaining hand wobbled. Winston smiled.  
“So that’s her name. Is she your girlfriend?”  
Lena nodded frantically, hanging onto every word Winston was saying.  
“Well, Miss Oxton, she’s a lucky girl. Now you sit tight whilst I help our delirious singing friend here, ok?”  
Lena nodded again, slower this time, before sinking into a sitting position. She perched on her elbows, now at peace, now looking incredibly tired. Winston stopped worrying about her as he knew the her time energy would stay within the field, even if she faded. He turned his attention back to the singer, who had gone quiet.  
“Hello? Are you ok?” Winston’s voice was soothing, its rich tones catching the attention of whoever was buried. Winston curled his giant fist around the remains of a pillar and swung it away. Something glowed faint yellow beneath him.  
“Are you the blue lady?”  
The voice was absent minded, almost wistful. Winston kept digging, hurling chunks of plaster and concrete aside. Lena watched his every movement.  
“No, I’m afraid not. Is she important?”  
The voice started singing again.  
“Down came the rain, and, washed the spider out…”  
“Mam? Try not to move, ok? I’m coming to get you.”  
The voice suddenly spiraled off.  
“No no, DON’T TOUCH ME!” it screeched, and the rubble suddenly shifted as whoever it was withered beneath him. Winston ignored it, finally clearing away the chunk of board that was obscuring his view.  
Then he stopped.  
The woman lay on her back, head split open, blood painted on the ground underneath her. Her dress was torn, her nose was broken, and she would have been dead if it wasn’t for the suit she was wearing: it was humming desperately and emitting just enough healing energy to keep the woman's soul in her body. Winston's heart broke as the woman screamed.  
“Angela?” he whispered.  
The woman stopped struggling, glaring at him like a four year old.  
“The blue woman shot me. My head hurts. Can I go home?”  
Winston leant forwards, lowering himself into the hole.  
“Yes, Angela. I’m going to pick you up and take you home. Is that ok?”  
Angela suddenly shook her head, eyebrows furrowed.  
“No, no, I need to stay here. I’m dead, see? Dead people can’t move. Reyes can’t move. He’s dead. I killed him, did you know that?” she started to laugh but it turned into a cough and blood began to seep from her mouth. Winston darted forward, sneaking a hand under her back and wrapping his hand around the stick that was strapped there. He flicked the switch and the orb lit up, the tip of the staff spinning and weaving a stream of yellow energy. The light intensified and Angela screamed as the light latched onto her, screamed as her bones knitted themselves back together, as the two halves of her shattered skull realigned and as her organs began to perform their usual functions. She began to cry, reaching for the staff, trying to turn it off, but Winston grabbed her, holding her still as he hoisted himself from the hole in the ground. As soon as he stood upright she passed out, still murmuring under her breath.  
“Out came the sun, and dried up all the rain.  
And incy wincy spider, climbed up the spout again.”  
Winston held her close to his chest, the blood from her suit staining his dark fur. Lena sat bolt upright, eyes eyes glued to the motionless form of her doctor. She raised her hand to say something but found only a stump surrounded by pixels. She looked at Winston, eyes wide. Winston tried to smile reassuringly, but inside his head was spinning. Angela felt like a dead weight in his arms as he raised Lena’s tank from the ground, activating the hovering device contained in the disk before gently nudging it into motion. He navigated the wreckage, Angela pressed against him, making sure he could feel her heartbeat at all times. However, as he closed the door of his jet and made sure Lena was settled, he couldn’t escape the thought that Angela Ziegler had suffered injuries that even her healing staff couldn’t repair.  
Not even he knew how to fix a broken mind.

\-----

McCree cried until his eyes burned and his throat was parched. He cried until there was nothing left inside him, and then he filled that empty space with whiskey and went downstairs. He knew he was a mess, with his scruffy beard and sodden hair, his crumpled cape and his blood stained shirt, but right now he just wanted some fresh air.  
And maybe a hug.  
He found Sombra downstairs, helping the bartender sweep up the broken glass on the floor. The bartender's eyes were wide and cautious, not stepping too close to the mexican girl but not asking any questions either. As he walked past McCree the cowboy pressed a few crumpled notes into his hand, and the man mumbled his thanks as he hurried away. McCree watched Sombra as she began to stand up the row of stools, realizing that people reacted to her the same way they did him: avoid eye contact, meet demands and don’t ask questions. McCree also realized that she’d switched out her luminescent leggings and trench coat for faded blue jeans and a blouse, but he didn’t comment on that. He felt kinda bad for attacking her fashion choices a few days earlier, but then remembered that she’d tried to kill him not twenty-four hours ago. His pity faded. They were even now. Sombra hoisted herself onto a stool and grabbed a glass, filling it with water and sliding it down to McCree. He regarded it with the utmost suspicion, bringing it up to his eyes and staring at it.  
“Jesse, it’s literally just water. It won’t hurt you.”  
McCree shifted his glare from the glass to his friend, and she raised her hands in mock surrender. He huffed and drunk the water.  
“What happens now, McCree? Where do you go?”  
McCree wiped his mouth on his sleeve, kicking his boots up onto the bar. “I’ve got some business to settle with some old friends. I think I’ll start there, get things off my chest. Try and start again. If Overwatch really is gone, then it’ll be a fresh start for us all.” he looked at Sombra, who was combing pieces of glass from her hair. “What are you going to do?”  
Sombra shrugged. “Leave. Change my name, get a hardware update, hack a bank and leave the country. Erase myself from the grid, come back in about ten years. That’s what I usually do when I fail missions.”  
McCree raised an eyebrow. “You’ve failed missions before? Bloody incompetent Mexican.”  
In spite of herself Sombra grinned, flicking shards of glass at him. “Shut up, cowboy.”  
They sat in awkward silence for a moment, McCree tossing around an idea in his head. Only for a moment, though, Then…  
“Sombra, have you ever wanted to go to Australia?”  
The girl looked up suddenly, purple eyes sparkling. “Why you ask, McCree?”  
McCree shrugged slightly, positioning his hat on his head. “Well, that’s where I’m going, and I could use a friend. Australia is quite far away, I’m sure your ex-bosses wouldn’t follow you there.”  
“Friend.” Sombra rolled the word around in her mouth, feeling what it felt like. “Huh. I’ve never had a friend before.”  
McCree poured himself another glass of water. “Well partner, there’s a first time for everything.”  
Sombra looked excited now, acting like a teenager at the start of spring break. “When do we leave? What should I wear?”  
McCree laughed softly. “We’ll leave as soon as I’ve had a nap. Surviving murder attempts makes me tired, you know.”  
Sombra pouted. “Didn’t you just wake up?”  
“Go to hell.” McCree rested his head on the bar, closing his eyes. Sombra rolled hers, leaning her back against the counter and studying her nails. She’d wait. She’d wait as long as it took.


	15. Old Soldiers are Hard to Kill

Lena stood in the center of the room, watching Winston work with curiosity. He was sure he’d got it right this time.  
Only one way to find out.  
He flicked the switch with a giant finger, watching with anticipation as the device began to glow. Lena’s figure began to distort, and she started to scream silently, throwing her head back as pain wracked her body. Winston ignored her, focussing his attention on the piece of hardware in his hand. It hadn’t exploded yet. That was a good sign. He did, however, pay attention to Lena when her screams became audible.  
A grin split Winston’s face and he gently settled the device down on the table. Lena stopped screaming, looking down at her hands. Then she turned her gaze to Winston, eyes brimming with tears before she darted across the floor, wrapping her arms around his middle. She touched his face, his glasses his fur, and then the floor, her hair, her nose, the whole time laughing and crying and smiling. Winston sat down, joy filling his heart as he watched the girl come back to life.  
It almost made him forget about the mad woman who was tied to the wall in a padded cell down the hall.  
Lena twirled on the floor, kicking her legs and pointing her toes. Then she jumped onto the table, eyes widening when her feet actually made contact with the surface instead of falling through it. She jumped onto Winston's back and hugged his neck. Winston chuckled, lowering her back to the ground. She stood in front of him, face flustered, grin plastered to her face. Winston picked up the device, undoing the straps that were attached to the front of it and facing Lena.  
“Arms up, Miss Oxton.”  
Lena complied, raising her arms above her head and Allowing Winston to strap the device to her chest, the straps looping under her arms and around her shoulders, fastening over her back. Lena clasped her hands to the device, wonderstruck at how the light played through her fingers. Winston adjusted his glasses.  
“It’s called a ‘chronal accelerator’, and it’s locking you down to this current time and place. It’s fully rechargeable, when the light starts to fade just plug it into the wall like a regular phone charger.”  
Lena nodded seriously, taking note of every word.  
“You need to keep it charged, or you’ll fade again. But you don’t need to wear it all the time, you just need to be near it. Think of it like … a WiFi. modem It emits a signal in a fairly large radius, ok? Be careful with it. Don’t get shot in the chest, don’t go swimming in it, don’t be stupid in general.”  
Lena rolled her eyes at him before giving him another hug.  
The doorbell rung, a sound so out of place in this giant warehouse. Lena’s eyes widened and she glitched across the floor, appearing in the doorway. She turned to Winston and she frowned. Winston kicked himself.  
“Oh, right. You can still do that. I thought you’d find some use for that ability, so I tweaked the accelerator to allow you retain it.”  
Lena grinned and blinked away down the hall. Winston turned to his computer, which was judging him.  
“Alright, I lied. I had no idea she’d still be able to do that.”  
If the computer had a face, Winston felt like it would be smirking. 

\-----

Jack’s mind swum in a world of pain as he drifted in and out of consciousness. His own thoughts were trying to drown him, and he thrashed in his restraints. The face of Gabriel Reyes trickled into his brain and he jerked himself awake, feeling straps across his chest pinning him to a bed. Every part of his body hurt and his legs couldn’t move, even though they weren’t tied town. He couldn’t see anything as something was covering his face.  
“You’re awake.”  
The voice was flat and heavily accented. Jack recognised that voice and stopped struggling instantly.  
“How are you alive?” he rasped, his tongue dry. The woman laughed.  
“I could say the same of you, Jack. You were halfway dead when I found you.”  
Jack Morrison clawed at his restraints and the woman laid a hand on her arm. He flinched away from the touch, but the hand didn’t move.  
“I already knew you were alive. What I meant was…”  
“Why that sniper you hired didn’t kill me?” The woman's voice had turned cold. Jack felt guilty.  
“Yeah. That.”  
“Well.” Jack heard the woman sit down heavily, heard the chink of bottles being re-arranged. “The sniper didn’t want to shoot me, I don’t think. She saw me and ran.”  
Jack silently cursed Widowmaker and the woman heard him.  
“It was too late, anyway. I couldn’t have stopped Angela if I had wanted to.”  
The commander felt a sense of victory that was almost immediately overcome by the feeling of immense pain. He groaned and he heard the woman move.  
“Here. Keep your eyes closed, they got scraped up pretty good, you’re lucky you didn’t lose them.”  
Jack complied, keeping his eyes closed. Light poured in anyway, and he winced.  
He winced a lot louder when the woman pushed needles into his face.  
“What the bloody hell?!” he screeched, as what felt like a thousand points embedded themselves in his flesh. The woman's voice was unchanging.  
“You’re dying, Jack. You’re bones are so damaged that none of my medicine can help, and the radiation has gone so deep that nothing is going to get it out. This mask will supply you with a constant supply of morphine, to numb the pain.” the voice paused, almost sympathetic. “You’re getting old, Jack. We all are. I can’t stop you dying, but I can slow it down.” She began to undo the restraints as Jacks pain began to vanish like a bad dream. He could feel fluid seeping through his face, and it made him feel woozy.  
“Can none of Angela’s tech help you?”  
He heard the woman shake her head.  
“That nano-tech is beyond me. I can use it in its most basic form, but I’d need Dr Ziegler herself to explain it to me.”  
Jack stood up, shakily. He couldn’t feel his legs.  
“Get her in here, then.”  
“She’s dead, Jack.”  
That stopped him.  
“Reyes is dead too. But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” the voice was bitter. Jack opened his eyes, staring at the woman before him. She wore an eyepatch over an eye, her shoulders draped in heavy blue cloaks, the colour complimenting her dark skin tone. Her grey braid draped over her shoulder and her eye tattoo was exactly how Jack remembered it. Everything was tinted red by the visor he was looking through, but he could see her pained expression.  
“Ana…”  
“Don’t you ‘Ana’ me. I’m disappointed in you, Jack. What you made that young woman do, all the people who’ve died because of your actions…”  
Jack turned away.  
“Why’d you save me then?”  
Ana shrugged.  
“Old habits die hard, I guess.”  
Jack could understand, but he didn’t look her in the eye as she handed him a coat.  
“Come on, Jack. Let’s move.”  
Jack nodded, holding the jacket up where he could see it. It was very stereotypical and patriotic with a giant number on the back. He looked at Ana questionly. She jerked her head towards the door.  
“It’s a sandstorm out there. Put it on, for god's sake. You don’t need to make a fashion statement.”  
Jack grinned under his mask and was greeted by stabs of pain. He reminded himself to never smile again.  
He pulled on the jacket and picked his gun up from the ground by his bed, lovingly running his hand over the rough surface. Ana watched him with concern: she could see that the Jack she’d known had gone, and the man in front of her now was a monster.  
Oh well. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, she supposed.  
Anyway. Old soldiers were hard to kill.  
She turned and left the room, Jack in hot pursuit. As he exited the building, he left part of himself behind. The man that left the room wasn’t Jack Morrison, but was a clean slate. A good soldier. With a terrible jacket.  
The 76 on his back reflected the dying light as he closed the door.  
Jack Morrison had been dragged into that building, and Soldier 76 had left.


	16. Homecoming

Lena found the door and threw it open without hesitation, taking in the feeling of being able to grip a door handle again. She was in no way prepared to look into the pair of eyes that she did.  
Lena froze.  
Emily did the same.  
Then Lena started to cry and they were hugging, fingers buried in each others hair and foreheads pressed together, smiling and crying and trying to breathe in the other's scent. Winston turned the corner behind them and stopped, leaning against the wall and smiling slightly. Lena grabbed Emily’s shoulders and pushed her back, holding her still as her eyes took in every inch of her. Emily was still crying.  
“You’re just as beautiful as the day I lost you.” whispered Lena.  
Emily wrapped her arms around her girlfriend's waist and kissed her.  
And suddenly the memories of all the sleepless nights, all of the crying and all of the pain faded away.  
She kissed her girlfriend again.

\-----

Widowmaker pulled her coat closer to her neck and shivered, snow seeping into her boots. She couldn’t remember how long she’d been standing there for, but it felt necessary.  
It was the least she owed him, she supposed.  
It had taken her weeks to find it, and months to get there discreetly. She’d had to invent a mission about assassinating some French millionaire, and then had to find a French millionaire that she didn’t like and kill him. The later part had been easy, to be honest.  
Widowmaker stood in the snow, hands in her pockets, icicles dotting her dark blue hair. She stared at the grave, stared at the single rose she’d placed there, and felt a pang of loss. That was good. She was still able to feel something.  
She stared at her husband's grave, and regretted killing him.  
If Widowmaker had the capacity, she would have cried.

\-----

Deep in an old warehouse, Angela hung from a wall. She didn’t mind, but probably because she didn’t notice. She started to sing again, always the same song about the spider and the rain. In the song, the spider didn’t shoot anyone in the head.  
Angela’s spider had, though.  
Angela’s spider had been blue.  
Shot in the head by a blue spider.  
Head was all better now.  
Where was she?  
Angela didn’t know.  
Maybe head wasn’t better.  
Why was she here?  
Spiders.  
Blue spiders.  
Angela Ziegler hung from a wall, and her incredible mind continued to burn.

**Author's Note:**

> More chapters coming soon ...


End file.
